Collide
by whimsical89
Summary: every encounter is for a reason
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer-I take no responsibility for any character, I am not clever enough to create the world JK Rowling has.

life perplexed. James was always a melancholy character; he was intrigued and repulsed by people in turns. At best he was fickle, at worst pessimistic. James was perplexed by everything, he would often spend days just thinking over a poem he'd heard. Sometimes the words felt like smooth rocks rolling over and over within his head. Sometimes they slipped from his head building a wall of words between him and the rest of the world. James had friends, but between them there was always a wall built of unknown verse. An impervious wall. Really, people annoyed him. Sometimes they acted as an irritant, slowly chafing his spirit. He just felt so tired, and no combination of prose or verse could describe his type of fatigue.

Lily didn't mind being simple, not really. There were many facts in life, and her simplicity was just one of them. She wasn't stupid simple, or challenged simple, but simply simple. Simple in her emotions, and simple in her mannerisms. it was downright disarming declared everyone who met her. Unnerving but endearing. Often when people got to know her they would try to think of a euphemism to disguise her true nature, but they soon found the matter quite befuddling. She called all who met her to return to who they really were, they would forget the awkward pretenses and strange rituals of familiarity. Lily called everyone back to honesty. She had a romantic way of speaking, uncluttered with the pedantic words of those who are overly verbose; straight and to the point, it often caused others to blush. However, she wasn't perfect. She often felt like a not so important narrator of not so important times, and she resented the fact that she never received the highest grades but came in just fourth. She often wondered why the fourth place even existed, it was such a queer placement denied the glory of being in the top three, and denied the relief that you didn't have to shine in number 5. Fourth place was always reaching, always striving to break barriers.

They met by chance, in a quiet serendipitous way. She was buying poetry. it was always a bit ironic that she loved poetry, for in a way poetry represented everything that she wasn't. Poetry was quiet ruminating verse, or euphoric declamations of emotion. He was there because he always wanted to find honesty, and in some way, James always believed he would find it in a book. After all, he rationalized, that was where he found everything else.

In a very cliché way they were thrown together.

She was walking in a straight line, eyes upward and face to the world. The way she always walked.

While he shuffled quietly along, hoping to not be noticed, hoping that his continuous string of thought would not be prematurely clipped.

All at once, they collided. It was a collision of spirit.

"I'm sorry." she said, "I didn't see where I was going and I ran into you." she picked up her book and brushed it off, it hang limply at her side.

"right now, your sorry isn't quite good enough. You see I am in a hurry, and you got dirt all over my book." he replied, his voice was round and smooth, like polished mahogany and golden galleons.

He didn't mean his statement harshly, but he could tell by expression of mounting shock upon her face, that that was how it was received.

He only meant it honestly.

She bumped into him, and for a moment he forgot to disguise his words with unneeded adjectives.

He could hear the words fall brittle from his mouth, they descended, and shattered between them.

"Now that was rude, because I made an honest mistake, and it seems to me, it takes two people to collide. My sorry was sincere, and you were unkind." her words were round, totally round, and unblemished with hidden agenda. They silently pulled away at the stone barrier separating him from honesty.

"perhaps" he thought with a smile, "she is my favorite book."


	2. fortify

She never tried to hide. During times of great fear, many try to hide. They hide behind masks of who they are expected to be. They hide behind others, because they aren't ready accept what is.

That thought never occurred to Lily. She stood erect as a beacon of something greater during this terrible war.

She was the most unlikely beacon. Lily was muggleborn

All her life Lily had been told that honesty was more valuable than life, and more important than death. Lily was taught by her mother and father that there were a few precious things in life worth living and dying for, chiefly love, truth, integrity, and compassion. Subsequently, when Lily was 16 she knew who she was. This fortification of spirit was tried greatly during the War, when many were hiding, and acting cowardly. Lily always knew who she was and precisely what mattered to her.

James was fueled by anger. His anger contrasted sharply with Lily's confidence and serenity.

James's anger stopped him from hiding. Perhaps if left to his own devices he would have hidden. He would have been one of the nameless who shrunk in fear.

One never knows what would have been, only what is.

But James was too angry, too irate with the constant loss of those around him. James hated seeing potential die.

He started brooding.

All his life James had been taught by his parents to fight, or die trying. This in the end is what saved him. It's a strange world when anger preserves and doesn't distort. It's also ironic that both sides of this tragic war were essentially fueled by an ineffable resentment.

James was enraged. His anger helped to reinforce the wall surrounding him. He didn't want anyone to break through.

Today was a day devoted to thought. James didn't feel much like talking, lately James never did. There are certain events in life which define us. Events which mark us and leave us bereft of emotion, permanently marked. These events are similar to a tree that has been malnourished and subsequently grows deformed and bent. James's soul was like that. Irrevocably changed, and subsequently different.

When James was a little boy he lost his sister

When a family loses a child, that family is never the same. It is dented. Shortly after her death the Potters stopped talking.

It must be said that before her death the Potters were a lively family, a group of people which could only be described as constant motion. James nor his sister, Iris, were ever left wanting. They always felt loved and cared for. The Potter parents were careful to create children who would build a better tomorrow.

Back then James' walk was carefree; his gait resembled skipping more than it resembled walking. He would saunter with his head thrown forward in a state of internal ecstasy.

Iris never walked. She ran.

When Iris was seven she went to work with her uncle Henry Potter. Henry worked in the Department of Mysteries. The Ministry didn't usually allow children to come into that department. But the Potters were a ministry family. Iris ran into an isle in the Prophecy room. A crystal orb fell on her head leaving her small form lifeless.

The Potters learned that day, that they were mortal, and that there are some things which even magic cannot fix.

Ever since then James had always been angry. Voldemort gave him a face on which to put his anger. In every death he saw his sister, and in every life he saw his sister.

His wall was his defense, and his sister, his inspiration.


	3. God

Disclaimer-I own the plot, not the characters

There is a time in everyone's life when they believe they have encountered God. For some people this encounter is a subtle meeting, and only after the event do those affected realize it occurred. For other people, the event is colossal, and there is no doubt that god was present. For Remus the event was decidedly subtle. His encounter with God came in the form of hid great aunt Eva. Eva was an old lady, stooped like a deformed tree with dark leathery skin and blank eyes. Remus was frightened of those eyes, they reminded him of milk. Remus would often play his flute for Eva. As Eva approached her seventieth year she started losing her sight, by the time Eva was eighty-four she could no longer see.

Remus never truly saw the world. Not because he couldn't, but because he didn't look. Remus had the self-absorption of youth, a vice often excused because of age. He had trouble seeing past his own nose. When Remus walked, he shuffled quickly. His head was bent down and he would look at the ruddy pavement of the roads, and at the trash. Remus never tried to look upward, he never tried to look at the world around him. He was stuck in his thoughts, his constant awkwardness. Remus was growing, and his monthly transformations put a constant weight on his shoulders. He felt so awkward, like he didn't belong. When he was with Eva playing his flute, he forgot all of that. He revisited her youth, and then he didn't feel so awkward.

Eva always reminded Remus of everything strange. Sometimes he would see a strawberry that had been consumed by mold, and think of his aunt. He would see a tree that had obviously been poorly treated in its youth, subsequently twisting and bending in a strange way, and he would think of his aunt. Eva always saw the world exactly how it was. Eva had confident and ancient stride. She ambled with her head forward, looking the world in the face. Her way of walking was almost like a challenge.

When Remus was seven years old he learned how to play the flute. As soon as his playing became commendable his mother told him to bring her music over to Eva. Remus loved his music, he viewed it as an extension of self. Music made so much sense: the black notes were ordered on a page exactly as they should be, at a tempo which flowed. He preferred the work of the masters, and the way their music flawlessly fit together. His melody helped him to drift away. Remus found it very strange how Eva listened to her music. Eva would close her sightless eyes, tilt her head back, and absorb it. Perhaps absorb is a very strange way to describe listening to music, but Eva truly absorbed it. She was like sponge with water, the music seemed to penetrate the layer of waxy wrinkled skin surrounding her body, and infiltrate her soul. The harmony was like medicine for Eva. When she listened to it, she didn't feel the pain in her back, and it didn't matter that she could no longer see. Eva hated not being able to see, she loved color and composition.

When Eva was younger she took pigment and vision for granted. The blue damask of the sky at night was lost upon her, and the red of the tulips in spring went unnoticed. Old age came upon Eva quickly. Like a storm after calm, it left her changed. Everyday Eva mourned the loss of her vision. It crept away slowly first, but then picked up speed. Like a rock falling down a hill, her gradual loss of sight gained momentum. By the time Eva was eighty-four she no longer remembered precisely what the colors were. Green was no longer a hue, but a feeling: a leaf between her fingers, the grass the beneath her feet. Blue became water, and yellow warmth. The day she lost her sight, was the day she gained intuition.

Remus had a lot to learn, he still needed to discover that there was more to seeing than looking. Perhaps it was for this intrinsic reason that Remus came everyday to Eva's house, perhaps it was to learn this lesson. His first memory was of being with Eva playing stories. When Remus was little he loved being around Eva. He would go over to her cramped home with happiness. Back then, Eva's little house seemed like a palace. The cluttered kitchen seemed marble, and the threadbare-chairs looked like thrones. As Remus approached adolescence he became embarrassed. For the first time in his life he recognized what Eva truly was, poor and blind. No longer were the stories enough. All Remus could think of when she was with Eva, was how embarrassed he felt. When he played his flute, and saw Eva's expression change, he forget the constant weight of the awkwardness of adolescence, and the constant pressure of the oscillating moon

The day Remus encountered God dawned rosy. It spread across the sky like dye slowly seeping into cloth. Remus loved mornings. The city of London was waking up, vibrant and alert. Remus was walking to Eva's ambling slowly, this morning he was reluctant. Everything felt a bit cumbersome to him today. Remus felt the moon was coming, and his bones felt unusually heavy. Nevertheless, he continued forward, approaching the threshold to Eva's home circumspectly. Remus tentatively opened the door and saw Eva, sitting in her chair already awake, and strangely aware. She gave Remus the odd impression that she could look without seeing.

"Morning child, is that you?" asked Eva, her voice was scratchy and uneven. It reminded Remus of burlap bags. He took in Eva's appearance, noting her white hair in disarray, which was spread about her face like a halo. Her black dress and shawl, which were made out of fine material but hung strangely on her thin frame. Remus had never seen Eva wear anything but black, it seemed as if she were in constant mourning. Her white blank eyes, white hair, and black dress contrasted sharply. Eva seemed to be a constant contradiction, the combination of all color, or the absence of it.

"Yes Eva, it's me, Remus." He replied, his voice was still hesitant. It had a strange ringing quality, similar to the flute he played. Remus stood still, his hand was resting on the doorknob, and the bright London dawn shone brightly behind him, illuminating the room, but leaving Remus in silhouette. Today, Remus felt like a shadow.

"Sit down child." Eva said, in a strangely desperate voice. Remus walked all the way in, closed the door, and obeyed. He sat down across from Eva, settling himself in one of her many chairs. Eva's house was cluttered with chairs. Eva's chairs were eclectic. Some were fine, some were strange, and some were fit for a pauper. They all came from different decades, and areas, and were subsequently different styles. Some were ornate, of dark ebony and plush velvet. Others were of oak, adorned with simple straight lines and utilitarian backs. Remus chose an old plush one. He raised his flute to his mouth and blew, an f sharp piercing the still air.

"Today child, don't play, let's talk." Remus was shocked, he hadn't truly talked to Eva in many years. Remus didn't like talking, his thoughtful and circumspect nature left his voice raspy with idleness. He didn't know what to say. "Tell me how this morning looked, I felt slightly chilled, was it a hesitant blue?" Eva's voice probed further

"No," Remus replied, "It was vibrant and alive, the sun was a deep yellow-"

"Yellow like what?" asked Eva, Remus wasn't quite sure how to respond, he thought for a moment and then countered.

"Yellow like mother's hair when she was younger. Yellow like warmth, golden like the sun."

"And the sky?" There was such desperate urgency in Eva's voice, that it made Remus shiver. he felt goose bumps rise upon his arms, and across the back of his neck.

"The sky around the sun was red. A deep red, more like a crimson. Red like a tulip, like an apple, like blood. Around that red there was pink. A light pink which started out as blue, but then slowly shifted."

Eva closed her eyes and smiled. Remus paused for a moment then picked up his flute and resumed playing. He got carried away and only after his mournful string of music died out did he notice Eva's milky eyes fixed upon him. Remus always found her pupil-less eyes disconcerting.

"Child, what are you wearing around your neck?" Eva asked. Remus reached down and felt around his neck. He was a little shocked by the question, but answered quickly, as curiosity propelled him to do.

"Nothing" Eva looked once more at Remus then threw her head back and laughed. It was a surprisingly throaty laugh for someone so old. At first Remus thought she was having a fit of some kind, but the corners of Eva's thin mouth were turned upward.

"Child I have a chain for you." With that simple sentence Eva got up out of her chair with surprising alacrity and moved through her little house. She didn't bump or jostle anything as you would expect from someone blind. Remus looked at her with wonder. Eva bustled into a little room that Remus had never noticed before. She spent several minutes in the room and returned with a large ornamental necklace. Remus looked at the necklace noticing the weight of the chain. Eva held it out to him and stated simply, "Put it on." Remus did just that, letting the chain sit heavily around his neck. Remus pictured himself with the necklace and laughed quietly. The smile fell from Eva's face, and her eyes seemed strangely focused on Remus, "Child, why are you giggling?"

"It's just that this necklace you brought me, it's so strange, so absurd. No one would ever wear anything like it in London. My peers would laugh at me." Remus somehow regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Eva's lofty gaze seemed sterner.

"Child, tell me about that necklace." Remus took it hesitantly off of his neck, and held it in front of him as a sort of shield to Eva's piercing gaze.

"It's heavy with several intertwining chains, of different colors of metal"

Eva closed her eyes slowly, she then started speaking with her eyes still firmly shut, "I wore that necklace when I was sixty-seven. I wore that chain everyday that year."

"But didn't people laugh at you?" Remus asked, truly intrigued.

"Child, it doesn't matter if they laughed or not, everybody has their own quirks or quips. I love that necklace, and anyone laughing at me would just be a plain hypocrite. It doesn't matter if they laughed anyway. People laugh when they are uncomfortable, when they are threatened. Right here, right now, when I gave you that necklace, you laughed. You didn't notice how fine the intertwining chains are, or the engraving on the clasp which says "courage." You didn't notice any of that. You would have told me while describing it if you had. Those who laugh at others are ignorant. Those giggle at different are insecure. I don't need my eyes to tell me that. I just have to look."

Eva shook her head, and Remus felt his cheeks heat up. He felt as though there had been a strange revolution inside of him. Perhaps his lycanthropy didn't matter, maybe his bones felt heavy because he felt the moon was his to carry. Remus felt flustered with new thoughts, and the possibility that perhaps he created his own awkwardness. He picked up his flute and continued playing. His music started out slowly but as he reached the second stanza it got faster, and faster, more frenzied. Handel's music had never sounded so confused. Then suddenly, as abruptly as he started, Remus stopped playing. He set down his flute, the flat g which he had just previously played was still hanging in the air. There was a new feeling around him, palpable, but yet unnamable. Remus rose from his chair, and cast one last look at Eva. She was sitting serenely, her eyes were closed and she was snoring gently by the window. Her frizzy hair was casting a shadow on her sharp beak-like nose, and her black clothing was leaning heavily in awkward folds across her stomach and shoulders.

Remus turned from Eva's door and immediately his eye's were assaulted with the bright morning sunlight. He made his way down the road, taking special effort to keep his face forward, and to look everyone passing in the eye. Remus saw things he had never noticed before. The way the sun reflected off of the roof of a house, the dimple in a woman's chin. Everything suddenly seemed more alive. Remus closed his eyes, and felt the sun on his face. He continued walking with his eyes closed, His right foot got caught on a stone. Remus pitched forward and his hat necklace flew from his neck, landing in front of him. Slowly Remus got up and picked up Eva's necklace. He had forgotten he was still wearing it. He continued walking forward, and for the first time in his life, his bones didn't ache. He felt strangely liberated. The heat of the sun beat down upon him, and he felt like dancing. He hurried home, into his room and sat down. He had a lot to think about

Remus had always been an interesting boy. Fair of complexion and honest of character. He liked to spend hours daydreaming, sometimes he spent days. His mother often scolded his idle nature, but Remus liked to wonder. Right now, Remus was thinking. He was thinking of the contrast between those who are very young, and between those who are very old. Remus felt the necklace around his head, and He suddenly became aware of everything, He didn't feel the need to hide anymore. He brought his flute to his lips and started playing. Remus had never played anything like the music he played now. It was a twisting tune, somersaulting in his mind, and swerving through musical obstacles. Remus had been taught to see by the blind.

Note-Sorry it took so long, this chapter is a sort of interlude, and explanation of a part soon to come, I'm trying to lay the foundation, then the story will really start moving

5


End file.
